Misanthropic Mayoral Duties: Requests to a Pessimistic Front-Runner
by Nate-kun
Summary: Dicktown is a horribly underdeveloped town run by a mayor ridden with despair. When funding is low and tourism non-existent, the town decides to open a suggestion box for new Public Works Projects. The only thing that stands in the way is the mayor's approval. Req .10 - Chadder's Pizzicato: In which Chadder learns that requests have to make sense in order to be constructed.
1. Req 01: Punchy's Sonata

**So this is my next project, heading on back to Animal Crossing. Haven't done anything for this section of the site before, so why not? Autumn seems to be coming to New Leaf soon, things are changing, should be fun to experience.**

**Anyhow, the idea for this story came about when I realized I've had this freaking game since day one and I've yet to get a request to build the Police Station, keep in mind I have every other building constructed in town, even the fucking ****_Fortune Shop, _****do you know how hard it is to build that place? Very.**

**The premise should be simple, each week, our official elected represented down-in-the-dumps mayor receives a letter of social retardation from one of the town's villagers. For the most part, each letter will be regarding a suggestion for a new Public Works Project for the town. After performing a quick skim of each request, the mayor will decide whether to approve or deny said recommendation. If it passes, more power to the town, if not, well then shit, no tourism for you.**

**If you can, please review, even if it's not really your thing. It keeps me doing this until I keel over. Be it positive or not, I'll always respond back by the next chapter, it's just how I do these things. Anyways, this A/N is taking too much space, here we go.**

**Word Count: 675 words.**

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Misanthropic Mayoral Duties: Requests to a Pessimistic Front-Runner

Req .01: Punchy's Sonata

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Dicktown is, for lack of better word, full of dicks. A town in the middle of nowhere where everyone is peaceful, but at the same time, not even aware of what they're doing half the time.

A mostly undeveloped town with tons of space to spare for generally anything, but with a lack of funding so low that the thought of actual progress was almost laughable by all means.

In fact, the only person in town with bells that exceed the amount of four digits is the mayor himself, and that was just by daily grinding alone. However, by no means is he a miracle worker. Everything comes at a price, a convincing reason for construction, and a justification on why he should spend his millions of dollary-doos funding said construction.

A vexatious wasp flies over Town Hall, his buzzing just oozing intentional harassment.

The insomniac mayor sits in his revolving chair, yet no amount of casual spinning can save him from the enigmatic hellhole that is running a town full of mindless animals who care only about stupid shit, like fishing or who can be the first to capture a stag beetle.

A group of ravaging cicadas cry outside as loud as they can, as the sunlight glistens into the darkened office.

His eyes, bloodshot and sullen, his shoulders can't sulk any lower. With black hair that is but a tiring chore to tame, it sits tangled and unruly atop his head.

Dust has settled on his desk, caking his farce-gold plate engraved with his name and political title, as well as the frame of his loving mother.

"_I hate this fucking job._"

Not even five seconds later, light shines into the office as a furbait paw opens the doorknob. The mayor covers his eyes from the blinding light, too adjusted from the darkness to adapt to such a sudden change.

It is Isabelle, his overly-bubbly and benevolent cohort who would want nothing more than to serve aside her boss until the end of time.

He just thinks she's an annoying cunt. Because she kinda_is, _all things considered.

She isn't aware of any of this though, like every other unintelligent peon in town. With a stride and a wag of her bell-ringing tail that does nothing but scream _burning bush, _she makes her way to his desk.

"Hello, mayor! How are you today?"

He mumbles something, he doesn't even know what, like a mixture of the words 'fine' and 'okay'.

"That's great! I had a good morning, I drank my mocha and I'm ready to help you out! So, to do just that, I took in a request for a Public Works Project, and I need you to approve of it so we can start construction on it!" she notes in a beaming tone.

It's sad that he can't even jack off to that. It's just not his pudding.

After getting a half-assed response from a mayor who's too tired to even care anymore, the blissful dog retrieves an envelope from her inventory, and hands it to him.

"This suggestion came from Punchy, come back to me when you have a decision!" with that, Isabelle exits the office, leaving the mayor alone with a letter and an unwilling attitude.

But to get it over with, he opens the envelope and reads the request.

_"Hey mayor, mrmpht! The other day I was knee-deep in a stromboli the size of a house, but I remembered that it was a Friday, mrmpht! See_ _mayor, I have this thing where if I eat turnovers on a Friday, I get a horrible nightmare! But, I was also drinking orange juice at the time, and orange juice helps cleanse the soul, mrmpht! So that night, I had a good dream about pixies roaming about a delicate flower field, and **that's **why I think we should have a **Fairy-Tale Streetlight **in town, mrmpht!"_

After giving the suggestion a quick, non-biased, and thorough review, the battered mayor doesn't even spend a minute on it before coming to a concrete conclusion.

**_Denied._**


	2. Req 02: Curt's Requiem

**Alright, so a week's gone by, so far so good, right? I sure think so. Anyhow, I'm kinda sick at the moment, and what better way to lament about a sore throat than to sit here and type about it?**

**Sorceress of Shadows: Thanks, entirely optimistic characters are a trope I tend to avoid more often than not. My humor leans more towards 'kick the suffering horse' than anything. Again thanks for the review, hope you keep up with this!**

**So, want to help me keep this story up and maybe update more often? Simple, just review, tells me people are reading and gets my ass in check. So review, review, review, can't say that enough**

**Word Count: 696 words.**

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Req .02: Curt's Requiem

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A beautiful day in September is the equivalent to a beautiful day in any month, with the exception of the fact that the month in question is September. This comes off as depressing to the settlement of Dicktown, who could benefit so much from tourists who enjoy the warm sun glistening on their skin, if only they had known that such a magical place even existed.

Isabelle chooses this exact moment to bust into Town Hall, a beaming smile on her face and an attitude that says, "**_Hey world! I'm ready to work today!_**".

Unfortunately, there are people in the world who don't happen to share the same perspective as her.

"Agh, oh god, the light, the light, too bright, _too bright, _too fucking bright, **_piss the fuck off!_**"

Isabelle doesn't understand any swears that aren't in Animalese, and assumes that it's some lighthearted playful talk. With a skip and a hop, she enters the room with a mocha in her hands.

"Good morning mayor! How are you today?"

The mayor sniffles, his eyes more bloodshot than usual, he shakes violently, mucous trailing out of his nostrils, "Ca-Can't you s-see...can't you see I'm sick today?! No mood to work. No fucking mood. I just. I just do not have the energy nor will to want to go through with anything today, so just piss off."

"Aww, mayor, I'm so sorry you're sick! I'm glad you called into work anyways, that's a brilliant way to tell the citizens of Dicktown that no obstacle will be able to keep you from giving top percentage, each and everyday!"

"I-I'm here because I...I practically- **_practically live here!_**I haven't been fucking home in **_ages!_**"

The mayor sneezes, his head attached to the desk. Droplets and beads of sweat roll down his forehead, his throat is as sore as his own back, "Oh god, I should have just...should have just ran home..."

Isabelle frowns, but quickly turns it upside-down, oodles of musical notes flowing out of her head, "Well, look on the bright side, at least you'll be able to make more people happy today! Say, why don't you drink some of my mocha? It'll probably make your throat feel better!"

The mayor shudders from the suggestion, immediately straying away, "No, n-no way! Fuck off with that, it probably has your dirty, dirty, filthy, **_Japanese dog germs_** in it, or worse, your dog hair! I'd rather get the **_herps_** than get that!"

She takes no offense to that, either because of her positivity or her lack of awareness, "Haha! Your loss then, well, how about we make a deal then. I'll go to the Nooklings and pick up some medicine, _if, _you approve a suggestion."

Eyes droopy, knees buckling from the air conditioner, breath heavy and germ-infested, the mayor looks up to his assistant, "You play a pretty crafty game, you freaking stooge."

Assuming his response as an agreement, she hands him an envelope and benevolently makes her way outside the Town Hall, "Hey! Wait, I didn't mean-"

_Thump._

"Sh...sh-shit."

Without any hesitation, the mayor quickly opens the envelope with his infected teeth, not caring how battered, ripped, and unusable it is because of it. He retrieves the letter inside, and skims over it.

'_Hey fuzzball! So I was on the computer the other day when I noticed a fight was going on on a pay-per-view channel, I was so stoked, I was like, "Fuzzerific!". But then, then I realized my TV only plays local-access! It was horrifying, fuzzball! If I'm going to spend my life-savings just to watch the biggest boxing match of all time, I'm gonna need satellite to do it, and not just me, everyone could use some more channels too! And so, I request that we have a **Parabolic Antenna **in town! Even you can benefit from more channels, fuzzball. You'll finally be able to watch more trash-television!'_

The mayor ponders his decision, this time it _is _biased. Simply because if he doesn't, then no medicine. Regardless, he's more attracted to this suggestion because the idea of satellite pay-per-view porn that isn't of animals is something that just cannot be averted.

_**Approved.**_


	3. Req 03: Pierce's Symphony

**An entire week and everything sick about me seems to have faded away with the exception of this dreaded cough. Holy fuck, I wish that can go away. Maybe give it a few days or something.**

**Sorceress of Shadows: Wow, thanks for that review! I usually skim my documents for typos and the sort before uploading but y'know, there are some here and there that can slip through. Don't expect tons of approvals on requests though.**

**Please review if you can, I appreciate reading them much like everyone else does, and will respond back to each one that comes in. Reviews mean motivation, and motivation keeps me going, thanks.**

**Word Count: 1020 words.**

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Req .03: Pierce's Symphony

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He finally comes home after a ravaging, uncaring onslaught of weeks of being mayor. The interior is almost foreign to him, he has to convince himself he hasn't trudged into someone else's residence, he's grown so attached to that dull and uninspiring Town Hall that anything else is just a pink elephant.

The first night receives official mayoral approval as the best sleep he's ever had in his entire existence.

The first morning is a reminder that everything else in life is shit.

"Unnngh..." he mumbles under his covers, comfy as all hell with the resistance of a man who doesn't want to let go of a fortune. Yet no matter how much he holds onto the figurative treasure chest, the sun refuses to hold back, burning rays glistening in his face.

"Fuck, fuck, **_fuck! _**Alright, alright then, damn!" he throws the covers off of the bed rather abruptly, not a slimmer of rats ass given for his partial nudity.

An indecent shell of a heartbroken man formally known as the son of a doting mother walks up to the window, opening it with a not-so solemn grimace plastered onto his face.

"Ah, g'day chap, top of the mornin' to ya!" exclaims Kicks, the lowly gob of the manor who takes delight in taking part in a little jog around Dicktown each Monday before opening his shoe store.

One of the few constructions in town that bears the mayor's approval, if not because the same brown loafers was a combination he found as much a bore as it is digging the same four fossils from the ground every day.

"Oh, hey Kicks. Say, what day is it?" asks the mayor, an underlying hint of douche in his tone.

The skunk gives a small smirk, recollecting his knowledge in a matter of seconds, "Why it's September twenty-third, my fine fellow!"

"Splendid, now get the hell off of my lawn you rotten piece of roadkill!" retorts the political husk with a sarcasm-laced voice of optimism.

"Okay then chap, 'ave a wonderful day!" with that, the skunk trots off.

Following a meander throughout the house in order to re-memorize all the nooks and crannies the establishment holds, the mayor indulges on a light breakfast. A somewhat wary breakfast consisting of a cup of slightly bitter coffee and slightly-burnt toast topped with slightly-overdone eggs coming from a slightly-homosexual chicken.

The only viable meal of any day.

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The mayor steps out of a day with a lack of motivation so bad it mirrors a lazy villager on their worst day. In order to keep a good public image, he begins slapping himself multiple times.

"Come on... come on, get it together..."

Despite that, he still bears an uncanny resemblance to a man whose been beaten down with steel pipes, battered with wooden bats, and hammered by mildly-aged bourbon.

He takes three steps out the door before his attention is caught.

"Uh, hello, Mr. Mayor, yes?"

He's all ready to bust a pair of chops when he realizes that the voice doesn't belong to any of the insane villagers in town, but actually a decent working man with a modern ego.

Pete the mailman. Or bird. Mailbird.

He immediately drops his overly-condescending demeanor in order to speak to one of the few people in town that doesn't act like a fucking two year old, "Oh, hey. What's up?"

Pete proceeds to take out two identical pink envelopes, "Nothing much, same old same old Mr. Mayor, but uh, I got a few parcels for you here. See, uh, one is from _**Nintendo,** _I believe. It would go against my mailbird's oath to spoil the complete details to you, but I will tell you that it has something to do with your _hairy palms _and the new channels you received with that fancy Parabolic Antenna."

All the mayor gives in response is a minor shrug of indifference, "Oh." followed by a rub of the chin, "So what's the other one?"

"Suggestion from Pierce, it's not labeled on the envelope so you're just going to have to take a wild guess. Listen I'd like to chat more but I have like, _dozens _of explicit toys to deliver to Dora, I'll see ya later."

The mayor smiles and gives the sane bird a wave as he soars into the air.

A rare sight.

So, like all other days, he opens the envelope with the hopes that, without the presence of an annoying bitch of a dog in sight and the positivism flowing from the previous conversation, that he'll be optimistic enough to actually commission another project.

'_Hey hawkeye! I actually hope that this doesn't go against any rules or anything, but I'm going to go ahead and toss two requests at your way, y'know, just a spur of the moment! Alright hawkeye, so the other day I'm watching **Ancient Aliens **and I'm thinking, "Hey! I remember reading about seagull-aliens roaming towns the other day, we need the seagull audience!" so here's my first suggestion mayor, **Stone Tablet. **Stone Tablet man, it'll attract seagull-alien tourists, isn't that what you've been wanting!? Also hawkeye, for request number two: I've been noticing that our town lacks a **Campground**. For one, we could rake in a ton of potential tourists if we allow some of them to stay overnight, some might even move in hawkeye! It's a shoe-in for more town profits, think about that! Uh, I think I might be making this pretty long, just remember mayor, seagull-aliens are the key!_'

A two suggestion is actually something the man hasn't seen since Fuchsia suggested a strip mall and a strip club to accompany said strip mall, so it comes off as a surprise.

Unfortunately, even the mayor's pockets couldn't accommodate the rip-off prices that hookers accept. A crushing disappointment, but unrelated to the current point.

For the first time in a while since that 'porn antenna', the mayor sees a successful selling point, but only in one of the two requests.

He hopes that Pierce won't be saddened with the results.

**_Blatant Campground Tourist Attraction - Approved._**

**_Extraterrestrial-Avian Sex-Calling Device - Denied._**


	4. Req 04: Drift's Overture

**Another Monday, another chapter to go in order to adhere to my unofficial schedule. Isn't it great? Anyways, it's time to get down to business.**

**Sorceress of Shadows: Thanks! As for the mayor's character. any character development for him is something I'll intentionally keep in small doses. He's not so bad when he's around someone that isn't a bad egg. The same goes for his origin story.**

**If you're looking for an opportunity to keep me pumping these weekly chapters out at the speed of a snail hyped up on the good stuff, I suggest you review, it helps me, it helps you. It helps everyone.**

**Word Count: 1330 words.**

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Req .04: Drift's Overture

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It personally comes off as no surprise that the next few days would come in with waves of suggestions after suggestions. All of which were pieces of unadulterated animal shit who couldn't come up with a good idea if it hit them in the ass.

Fortunately, they do have some uses. The **_Campground _**construction went under completion a few days ago, and according to that unbearable fucking dog, should be receiving its first camper in "due time!".

He really can't stand her, or anything she says, he really can't stand his own job, he'd rather let the fucking turtle take it back.

But he's too far into the abyss to escape, all he can do now is just sit, wallow in his own woe, and let the godly muckrakers above stir even more shit for him to deal with. Whether it be from basic to absolutely obnoxious, it seems there's never a day when he can have peace.

Not even in the morning.

The mayor sits on the yellow bench not too far from Dicktown Plaza, the first Public Works Project to be completed. He considers it a fucking stupid project, even in hindsight, but Isabelle was convinced that something small would help spark something majestic.

'_It's just a fucking bench, you scamp._' he drones as he sips his coffee.

The shop just out of town always made a good cup, except when they didn't, and when they didn't they were abhorrent hipster garbage. It brings up slight motivation, slight incentive for him to commission their own coffee shop.

'_I think I heard that insufferable owl talking about one lately._'

It couldn't be any worse than letting a homeless skunk run a shoe shop, or anything.

Yet, it seems like despite the amount of trivial things he's done for Dicktown and its rising expansion, the mayor can't even find solitary time to sit down and have a cup of joe anymore.

Drift approaches him without hesitation, a smile on his froggy-faggy face.

"Whoa! It's the mayor, what up, brah? What a coincidence, I was just out on my morning jog, and here we are, running into each other on a **_ribbiting_** morning like this one! I've actually been looking for you too, brah! I got something to give ya!"

'_Did...did he just make a frog pun? He did. He made a frog pun. He made a frog pun and he made me listen to it. And it wasn't even __**that good **either._'

"Just trying to enjoy this cup here..." he notes, in a rather impassive tone. God forbid he spend his affluent days with at least five minutes to himself before everyone starts riding him like the ungrateful people they are.

It just gets worse the moment the frog decides to sit his jockstrap amphibian ass on the bench as well.

Drift then proceeds to gawk at the mayor with those two uncomfortably distant eyes and wide smile, longing for something.

They always want something.

"So mayor, I've been thinking..." Drift begins, stopping momentarily to take a sip out of a strange yellow-green liquid mixture in his cup. The mayor could only assume it was an energy drink of some sort, and that's all there was to say on that matter.

He sighs, because he knows exactly where things are heading, "Go on..."

"We need a **Streetlight, **brah!" the mayor is mildly impressed. For one, Drift's much more direct than any other of the requesters have been, getting straight to the ordeal without need nor wait for a shitty explanation was to why he came to the idea he wants to propose.

But he's been down this road before, with Punchy specifically, and is at a loss as to what would be so different about the subject this time.

"A **Streetlight**?" he questions, almost beckoning him to answer with that same kind of ensured optimism that's been bugging him all day.

"Yeah, brah! Wanna bet why?"

The mayor's despondency is at the end of the fray, and it can't possibly get any lower.

He looks up at the clouds, but a white mass resembling a tortoise causes him to look at the grass instead.

"Why?"

"Because brah," Drift pauses to take another ungodly sip from his cup chock full of ichor clots, "when it gets dark, no one can see!"

'_Oh, thanks. I really needed to know that._'

"Uh-huh. Go on." he sees a pill bug in midst of the proposal. It looks cute, like an innocent little bug that's just trying to provide its common-day niche of walking around without a care, and for everyone else to walk around _it _in the same manner.

He steps on it.

Never mind the verity that the bug attempts to roll into a ball like a misogynic man struggling to escape a woman with the over-the-top scorn of a modern-day fascist. But it's no use, no ball can save his theoretical balls.

_Squish._

He steps on it. Again.

"And **_that's _**why we need a **Streetlight!**" Drift concludes, a startling reminder that brings the mayor back to reality, but at the cost of no longer knowing what the hell it is that that fucking frog just said to him.

"Right... I don't mean to be prude about this, but I'm going to go ahead and document everything you just said for what's-her-face to...legalize for the project. It's for incontrovertible dogma reasons, think of it as an aphorism. So uh, go ahead and uh, I don't know, repeat all that shit for documenting reasons."

A nice save, one he doesn't have to go out of his way to do, but one that would bite him in the ass if Isabelle were to find out that he just _'__forgot_' all the important details. He eagerly awaits the day he can finally repudiate against her. Against all of them, really.

And so, Drift repeats what he just said, a shitty rationalization for a shitty and non-tourist attracting attraction, if it can even be labeled one.

It's a definite no from that point on.

Yet despite the fact that the mayor continues to press on and on about how he's required to inform Isabelle about the suggestion, Drift pushes his buttons harder, the amphibian's desire to know of the mayor's approval is stronger than the official's own heart.

He can't wait. He cares not a slimmer of a rat's ass for spoilers. He yearns to know, and he yearns to know now.

And within that scenario, the mayor finds himself faced with another brimming predicament, a conundrum that he has no time to ponder about, a simple decision that could make or break Dicktown's citizen satisfaction meter.

With an awkward cough and a blatant fib, he '_promises_' to Drift that he'll do everything in his undesired powers to get the **Streetlight **constructed, just so he can take his nightly jogs without fear of getting lost in the woodsy wilderness.

Although genuinely speaking, it'd be more _woodsy _if all the inhabitants would stop fucking running on the grass whenever they get the damn chance to.

Precipitation cannot arrive faster.

Regardless of all that, Drift is pleased, "Alright brah! You're such a bodacious nut, I knew you could help me out! Give Isabelle a good word for me, I haven't been convicted of anything, just being **_tough _**and **_rough!_**"

'_In what context does he mean that...?_'

"Right. I think you should return to your jog now."

Drift plays with the anomalous ability to summon emotions, and calls an exclamation point to shoot up out of his head. A jerking reminder to return to his own schedule, "O-Oh no! You're right, brah! I've already lost time on my jog, I gotta burn off double calories to catch up now, I won't ever make it man! The choo-choo's gotta return to the tracks! Chug it, brah!"

He indeed, chugs on.

And the mayor is left alone with the crushed corpse of a pill bug.

**_Approved._**


	5. Req 05: Quillson's Concerto

**So today, it's aggravatingly cold, and that's just putting it lightly. October's rolling around, I can barely feel my fingers. It's a deathly form of frostbite that's just eating away at my flesh. Agh, fuck the deep south, fuck it ****_so _****much. Honestly though it can't be any worse than the north east. That again, is putting it lightly.**

**Sorceress of Shadows: His tolerance levels are far higher than he likes to let on, he hates those fucking animals so much, but if anything's improved since he's started the job, it's his patience with their repetitive, almost NPC-like, dialogue. For that matter, the best Public Works Projects are always buildings.**

**If you can, please review. It really helps me out with the motivation of writing these things, the more response, the faster I get to work and the better I do at making sure it's a coherent piece of literature. Thanks.**

**Word Count: 903 words.**

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Req .05: Quillson's Concerto

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"And uh, that's why a **_Cube Sculpture _**should be built in the town! It'll attract abstract tourists from all around the country, it's redukulous, Mr. Mayor!"

Quillson ends his Powerpoint presentation with a bow, expecting an applause to justify all the speaking he's just done.

He does get one.

_Clap._

_Clap._

_Clap._

He is given a slow stream of claps from the mayor, who is seated in his swivel chair, the brightness from the computer, in addition to his desk lamp, being the only illumination in his god foresaken office.

Never mind the fact that he had to stay after work hours in order to listen to this fucking duck's unique snowflake way of suggesting ideas, '_All he had to do was write a letter. Just write one **fucking **letter. What's so hard about that? Why must you go the extra mile?_'

Frankly, and in Quillson's defense, he assumed it would impress the mayor, and that extra mile would act as more incentive to greenlight the project.

The mayor stops clapping after three strikes, and then proceeds to stare at Quillson, hands folded, back arched towards him, as if to convey the image of him looming over him like a sort of towering figure.

Which wasn't too far from what he likes to believe.

"Well, well, well... I have to say Quillson, I'm **_mildly_ **shocked that you went all this way, to _all this trouble, _just to draft up a quick Powerpoint presentation. It's very interesting, to be honest, I didn't think you had the guts in you, I thought you were just going to send in a letter like the rest of them."

Quillson blushes, tinges of red heating his mallard cheeks up, "W-Well thanks mayor! I'm flattered, I-I just thought a little extra spice would convince you to give this request a try! I'm really glad you like i-!"

He snaps his fingers.

"**_However._**"

"H-Huh?"

"On the contrary Quillson, I do have to say that you're really over-estimating what little effort you did put into this production, I don't think you're taking this seriously." with that revelation comes a prolonged sip of his one-hundred percent pure ground Anusberg coffee.

Quillson quacks, his throat begins to get clammy at the sound of the mayor's all-too familiar indifferent tone, "Wh-What do you mean? I worked hard, the work was redukulous!"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure it was and I'm sure there was a **_ton _**of thought put into that catchphrase as well, but the fact remains, do you honestly think a strung-together slideshow of mis-mashed style-clashing clip art and obnoxious stock sounds are going to convince me that a **_Cube Sculpture _**is worth the hefty deposit to construct? You're going to have to try harder than that."

"B-But mayor, I did! This is my hardest!"

He takes another sip of his coffee, the damn thing, it's like a drug, it's practically the top reason why he has those insufferable rings under his eyes. It's like a light-hearted vicodin, should such a thing even really exist.

"Honestly you should have just sent in a letter like the others, at least then I'd be convinced that **_that _**was your best way to approach this kind of thing, but no, since you went the 'extra mile', I'm underwhelmed and I'll need to see more before I can make a confirmation."

Quillson's shoulders drop, his stubby animal arms dangling a few feet from the floor. He sighs, then looks back up at the mayor with a harrowing look of defeat, "M-Mayor... Just what are you trying to say?"

He spins around in his swivel chair, as if to lighten the grim mood a tad, just before he drops the bombshell, "Quillson, what I'm trying to say is: I don't like and will never like the idea or proposition that abstract hipsters invading our town just to stare at a floating cube they consider 'art' will bring in inflated tourism. I just don't. It makes us look bad, it makes us look as bad as Portland."

The duck cocks an eyebrow at the most unnecessary throwaway line within his short speech, "Portland?"

"You don't want to know."

Quillson picks up his laptop off the table, cutting the projection off on his white screen, "S-So this means that..."

"Yes, Quillson. The **_Cube Sculpture _**project shall be put on permanent hiatus. Come back to me when we have a 'No Scarfs, Messenger Bags, and Big Black-Rimmed Glasses' sign constructed, and I'll lift the hold."

"Isabelle, escort our guest to the door."

"O-Oh, okay, thank you mayor! You're so kind! I'll never forget this opportunity!" spirits enlightened once again, Quillson is taken outside by the damned dog, for it's one of the few benefits the mayor gets for having her cursed services.

The mayor just holds a smug smile. He plants his legs on his desk, laughs lowly to himself, and takes another sip of sweet, sweet Anusberg, "Yeah, yeah...I'm a '**_kind_**' person."

After bidding farewell and a good night to the faithful follower duck, Isabelle skips back to the mayor's office. With a smile, she places her arms on his desks, if she wasn't so flat, her breasts would be dangling in front of his eyes.

"So Mr. Mayor, shall I go ahead and greenlight the 'No Pretentious Chums' sign you were talking about?"

The mayor scowls and places his cup on his desk.

"**_Hell no._**"

_**Indefinite Production Hold.**_


	6. Req 06: Fuchsia's Divertimento

**Ah, another day, another week. Although in hindsight, this week isn't like most, I have Pokemon X/Y by me, and I happen to be enjoying it so far. No really, I am. Quite a fun game, hopefully it doesn't render New Leaf obsolete for me, I'd hate to miss Jack and Halloween just because I was too busy grinding Pokemon.**

**Sorceress of Shadows: Thanks, I'm trying to let the mayor's character come out in bits and pieces, though I also feel like he would be better at conveying his personality when in privacy. To put it simply, he's been around the corner a lot, he is an ass, and he does not care. As for the animals, the intention is that ****_some _****of them are aware that the mayor isn't all too sunshiny, but they're minor feelings at best. Since their characters are NPCs, they themselves are too focused on catch a dragonfly for you?**

**If you can, and I surely hope you intend to, please review. It helps me a lot when writing these things, and I love to hear from readers. Thanks in advance.**

**Word Count: 901 words.**

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Req .06: Fuchsia's Divertimento

* * *

"You, come over here this instant!" Fuchsia's snobby voice can be heard from a mile away. Apparently she's supposed to be an Uchi, but nothing about her screams big sister to anyone because no one wants a pink deer for their 'aneki'.

The mayor sips his one-hundred percent freshly brewed Anusberg coffee, staring at Fuchsia with a look of moderate indifference, as she stares back with a furious look of utter disdain.

Somewhat confused, the mayor looks to his left, and to his right, yet he sees nothing but the endless array of trees and woodland that make up the settlement of Dicktown. Turning back to Fuchsia, he taps his chest.

"Yes, you! Get over here, _**now!**_"

'_Fucking hell..._' the mayor takes a deep breath. He hates dealing with the ungrateful types, especially the girl ones, and he doesn't care one bit for how misogynistic it sounds. They always expect for much more than the minimum, and whenever something doesn't meet their impossibly high standards, they throw a bitch fit and do nothing but complain, complain, complain.

With a blood-shit break in-between.

The mayor already knows what it is she wants to bug him about too, after all, their incoming conversation isn't the first they've had that week. Only just yesterday, they spoke together, not of casual things, but of a request.

A request he approved because at the time, it rung helpful enough to not only benefit her, but also prove of some beneficial assistance to all of the other villagers, and even himself should he forget his watch at home while on the prowl.

He walks over, his cup of steaming, scorching joe in hand, "What?"

Furious, Fuchsia yanks the mayor's arm and points him to the sight of her disapproval, "**_What. Is. That?_**"

It is a completely rhetorical question.

The mayor eyes Dicktown's most recently completed Public Works Project with a blank gaze. To be quite frank, he isn't really sure where her trouble is coming from, "What? It's a clock."

"Yes! Yes it is! _**Do you see the problem here or do I have to point it out for you!?**_"

"I'm going to say," the mayor pauses to take another sip. It's suddenly acquiring a slightly bitter taste, one he isn't entirely fond of, "-the latter."

"It's a _Park _Clock!"

Cocking his head, he cracks a smug smile, "Oh really? That explains everything. Thank you for the information, I probably never would have been able to find that out without your brilliant deductions. For the longest time I just assumed it was a steel cock sticking out of the ground."

"**_Don't joke around like that! _**It's a **_Park Clock! _**Did you not hear me yesterday when I made the suggestion to you? I asked for a **_Modern Clock! _**This. Is. A. Park one. Do you know how offensive and rustic it makes the town? It's so plain, it's disgusting!"

"I don't think anybody but you cares. If you wanted a specific clock, you should have told me."

"But I did! I did and you didn't listen!"

"Huh. Guess I just tuned you out then. Oh well. Looks like we're stuck with it-"

The mayor attempts to walk off nonchalantly, but Fuchsia stops him, she grabs his arm and drags him back to the scene of the crime, "No, you're not leaving. This is your fault, you issued the wrong request and I demand to be satisfied as a villager!"

"Uh-huh. And how would I be able to 'satisfy' you then, ma'am?"

He enjoys acting superficial to the deer, it's the only pleasure he gets from talking to her.

"Get Isabelle to deconstruct this generic mess, and fund the **_Modern Clock _**right away! Make sure to place it right here, in this exact spot in order to capture the sunlight perfectly. I request that it be here tomorrow so that it doesn't interrupt my morning stroll!"

The mayor walks up to the simple clock and flicks at it with his finger. Nothing seems wrong with it, it doesn't look terribly bland, and given the town's placement in the middle-of-nowhere, it's kind of fitting in retrospect.

"Right... And how much is this going to cost?"

This time it's he who's asking the rhetorical questions.

"Seventy-eight thousand bells, of course." she answers, tone still as snobby as can be.

"Oh. Oh wow. Wow." the mayor feigns surprise, his free hand cupping his cheek, "Oh wow. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. What a surprise. That's almost _doub__led _what I paid to build _this _clock, and oh my, I don't even get a refund for _deconstructing _it, what a shocking turn of events!"

Fuchsia crosses her arms, nose stuck-up in the air, huffing with a hint of forced superiority, "Well then, I guess you should get started right away. It serves you right for such an incompetent mayor making such mistakes! I knew I was right when I said we should have re-elected Tor- **_Aaaaagh!_**"

He ends the conversation by walking away from her scalding face, burning from the searing contact of a cup of singeing, pure, one-hundred percent Anusberg to the face. Her screams are like screeches of petrifying defeat, and she falls to the ground, twitching and rolling all over the place.

Again, he doesn't really care.

He mumbles, deathly under his breath.

"_No one, no one, talks crap about this job but me._"

_**Deconstruction Request: Denied.**_


	7. Req 07: Dora's Serenade

**Dang, I'm falling quite behind on story updates lately. Too engrossed in Pokemon Y I'm afraid, and on top of that I went to a fair on Friday, spent my whole day there, and then spent a majority of Saturday drowning myself in a marathon of movies and softcore porn. Was it worth it now that I sit here, bags under my eyes and yawning like hell? I have to say, yes.**

**bored2death: Glad to see that the first story you've read is having you roller on your ass, I hope you continue reading.**

**Sorceress of Shadows: Yes, Fuchsia is indeed classified as an Uchi in-game, however despite that, I find my own headcanon of her heading towards more of the Snooty personality. Indeed I'm intentionally changing canon details, sue me. As for your ship, ship to your heart's content, but it's up to me whether or not the mayor engages in anthropophilia.**

**Want me to speed things up? Want me to continue keeping the story's quality at a completely respectable level? I have a simple solution to help you help me do just that: Review. It tells me I need to get off my ass and work that ass off, and it tells me that I have no time to waste, and to skip dinner and dive straight into three AM, typing lovely nurtured pieces of literature like this out at a completely non-existent pay rate, simply because I admire the iotas that read this.**

**Word Count: 735 words.**

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Req .07: Dora's Serenade

* * *

"_Ugh... Holy hell..._" the mayor grabs his throbbing head, a mixture of a yawn and a groan coming out of his thick, parched lips. His breath is heavy, delegated to a foul odor from its naturally tame-smell.

A bottle of cheap, shoddily-produced, one-hundred percent Animalesian alcohol is in-between his index and middle fingers, "_Shit..._" it's worth nothing that he has a stumble in his movement and slight hesitation in his thoughts.

Tipsily, he makes his way into Town Hall. Normally on pre-hungover inevitability trips like this one, he would head home, jump into bed, and call it a night because the earlier the sleep, the lesser the damage.

Not today.

Isabelle is on his ass again, riding his cock like the mistress of a boisterous whoremonger, she won't leave him alone. It's a form of torture in the embodiment of the town's financial state, taxes and the like. Unfortunately, he wasn't notified of this until the very last minute. Today had been his binge-out night, and it was too late for him to go back in time and change what he's already done to himself.

"_Gotta review this shit..._" he mumbles, attempting to get himself through what's no doubt going to be another long string of hours in the dark.

"_Screw that fucking pooch..._"

As he clumsily makes his way down the hall, he reminds himself that he has the right and ability to demote the dog's position as his personal secretary at any time, anywhere, any day of the week.

But he can never get himself to do it. He's too lazy to pick up on whatever few benefits she provides for him.

He mumbles something about double-sided coins, and opens the door into his adobe, his personal office, and the slutty mouse lying on top of his desk.

"Dora...? What the hell are you-"

"_**Hey mayor...**_"

The mayor shakes his head, and manages to get a hold of himself, "You're naked."

"I am."

"Why are you naked, and in my office?"

"Mayor, we need a **_Hot Spring _**in town. Do you know why?"

"No, because you want to bathe in public? Is that how you dirty rodents fly?"

Dora seductively drags a finger over her body, "No. That's not it. We need a **_Hot Spring _**because every time I get out of the shower, I'm cold. _Oh, _so cold."

"Uh... Just use hot water then?-"

"That's not the point." Dora hops off of the desk, and as she steps closer to the mayor and his personal bubble of agony, he notices that there's something strapped to her crotch. He cringes, out of respectful disgust.

"There's a dildo strapped to your vagina."

"Yeah, _there is._" she notes in a licentious tone. It's worth mentioning that she's also starting to shake her hips.

"Is that supposed to turn me on?"

"No, **_it's supposed to turn me on. . ._**"

The mayor looks down at the strap-on, and then back up to the midget-sized white mouse. It's so weird to see an animal attempt to seduce, she barely has any room to work those legs, the mayor can't help but wonder how she gets by with that.

"Uh, _okay. _So you want me to build this **_Hot Spring _**because... you need hot water and you feel like bathing in public? I mean, I guess that's okay-"

Dora grabs onto his shirt, taking in his alcoholic scent, "No, you fool! I mean, **_us,_**we need to be together! Don't you see? We were meant to be, I knew it the moment you came to my housewarming party!-"

"That was out of pity, you know." says the mayor nonchalantly.

"No matter. This **_Hot Spring, _**it's for us, we need it to save our relationship! That Isabelle, she's always in our way! We can get rid of her, we can get rid of her and **_relax _**in those springs until the day we die! Also, my shower is broken and won't produce hot water. It bugs me. Fix it, **_baby._**"

Here the mayor is, characterized by a shade of bittersweet innocence stemming from a mixture of his drunkenness and state of victimization, being targeted and forced to the wall by a lascivious mouse with a debauched libido.

He responds the only way he knows how.

He calmly exits the room and goes home.

_'That conversation never happened.'_

**_Promiscuous Nudity Bath: Request Denied._**

**_Admission into Mental Therapy: Request Pending._**


	8. Req 08: Antonio's Baritone

**I actually have a day-off today, hence why today's chapter is being uploaded much later than expected. Sorry about that, but clearly I'm going to get carried away with my short freedom.**

**Sorceress of Shadows: Don't worry about yourself. I'm one of the people that absolutely love long reviews. Anyways, I attempted to shoot for a banter sort of style with that chapter. If it didn't work with you then I understand, can't win them all they always say. As for the Isabelle thing, what I meant to convey is that he _really _doesn't care for her, since she gives him so much work and what have you. He can fire her at any time and replace her with someone else, but the thing is, she does provide _some _benefits, and he's too lazy to provide those benefits for himself should he fire her, so it places him at a stalemate. You haven't mentioned the chapter titles yet, I'm not a direct musical person but I do know what term means and I select them carefully when naming each chapter.**

**If there's one thing you can do for me, it's review. I don't care if you have anything trashy to say, I don't care how bad you're gonna say it, and I certainly don't care if you outright give a flame. What I care about is that you had the modesty to review in the first place, if you review, I am going to respond back, guaranteed. Reviews let me know people are reading, reviews let me know people want to see more, it's just that simple, it's how I roll, now let's get to the fucking story. Thanks in advance for your courtesy.**

**Word Count: 1214 words.**

* * *

Req .08: Antonio's Baritone

* * *

"Yo, _M-dog! _Honk, honk!"

_'Oh god, oh god, not this guy. Please, anyone but this guy.'_

The mayor's smoldering eyes look up from the grass to see Antonio jogging in place, right in front of him. Antonio was more or less one of the more outgoing residents of Dicktown, oftentimes competing with fellow lunatic Drift in competitions based around strength, speed, and sexual durability.

The mayor sips a cup of his Anusberg joe, it's almost becoming the Vicodin to his House, "Uhh... Antonio, was it?"

"Honk! You got that right, M-dog! Try not to mind me man, I was just out on my morning **_exercise _**run, and I saw you here no the bench. So here I'm thinking: _Wow, is that M-dog? _and then I came closer to you, and then I said, _wow, it is M-dog! __Honk, honk!_" still jogging in place, the anteater looks up to the sky, "So what's up with you, M-dog? I haven't seen you since Dora's honky house party!"_  
_

The ever-cynical and un-entitled political official attempts to refrain from reminding himself of that terrible party and the drunken events, affairs, and other variable conundrums associated it. Instead, he stares at the brown liquid in his coffee.'

"Just trying to enjoy my day-off here, not doing anything much, feeling kind of mello-"

Before the mayor can even finish his own sentence, he is swiftly interrupted by the ever-energetic anteater, "That sounds great, honk! Now listen, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did." he answers, dryly at that.

"No, honk, I mean another one!"

'_It's gonna be all fucking day with this bug-wallower, isn't it?_'

He sighs, and sulks a bit more in his seat, "Look, I'm sitting here, I'm listening, just ask away and make it quick." he's quite clearly exasperated, and it's understandable. After all, nobody ever bothers to talk to him about anything relevant anymore, no more talk of fun or casual things anymore, no, just requests over and over. It's all he wants, he's a living suggestion box for a bunch of people that do nothing but bug, bug, _**bug **_him all day, evening, and night.

It's both his fault in a way, and isn't at the same time. Sure, there's no doubt that he took up the job, there may have been some reluctance and begrudging hesitance, but he took it. He just didn't have a single clue that his entire social life from that point on, would consist completely of suggestions and requests, as well as the occasional demolition.

It's a new form of aggravation that prods him, even in the middle of the night, and here he is, attempting to enjoy what few free days he gets out of the dark office which he never leaves, only to have to return to it for the sake of an animal who does nothing but exercise on protein ants all day, every day.

'_Beautiful._'

After contemplating about his lament and woes, he looks up at Antonio, "Alrighty then! So, uh, say, do you like coffee?"

Like it or not, a moral code of his happens to be give every stupid question an equally sarcastic response.

"Gee, _I dunno. _What does it look like I have here in my hand?"

"You're funny, honk!"

Laughing coldly, the mayor looks away and chides himself for expecting deep connotations and euphoria from a non-playable drone, "Heheh...Yeah, I'm funny..." he mumbles.

When he's done with that, he returns to the anteater's gaze, "Yeah, I dabble in the anal brew every now and then, what of it?"

"Well M-dog, here's the squeeze-"

'_The "squeeze"? Is that what he calls it?_'

"So, I was talking to my good buddy Blathers-you know, the guy that runs the museum- and he was telling me how cool it is to get a coffee all the way from Anusberg, and I totally agreed with him, honk!"

The mayor prays to Serena-that one talking chihuahua thing he heard about in myth-that this conversation is going to go somewhere eventually, "Uh... Is that all?"

"Nope! Anyways, he was talking to me, and guess what? He said he has a nonchalant buddy who can construct a cafe of our very own, right here in Dicktown! Can you believe it? Dicktown coffee for just five-hundred bells per cup, honk!"

The prospect of not having to walk all the way to the next town just for a morning drink does satisfy him, to say the least, "And why exactly should I be listening to that rambling owl again?"

"Because, honk, you have the power to like, totally make Blathers' friend's dream a reality! He's always wanted to have a cafe, one filled with hipster tourists, and I sure if we build one, tourism will skyrocket!"

'_No. No. **No. No! No hipsters!**_'

Unfortunately, the concept of quick coffee keeps him from instantly denying the idea, "Is that so? Is there a catch?"

The man still can't believe that after all this time, Antonio is still jogging in place, "Well honk...Blathers _did _point out that in order to start construction, he'd have to invite his sister to the museum to help plan everything out. That'll call for a museum renovation."

'_Because I really want to renovate an empty museum. Oh joy._'

"Look Antonio, if you have something to ask of me, just say it. If you want me to dump my bells, I will. Just this once, _just this once. _So tell me, how much is this going to cost together? The renovation, the cafe, the whole kazoo."

"Four-hundred and ninety six thousand. Rounded up for you honk, that'll be...five hundred!"

'_Even fucking Kicks the homeless skunk didn't ask for that much, though, given that he's a bum he probably doesn't even know the value of money anyway._ _Dammit, I'm conflicted again._'

"You know what? If it'll get you to screw off, fine. I'll do it."

Antonio smiles, or to be specific, to the extent that an anteater can smile without it butchering his entire intended body structure.

Whatever. He beams with his eyes because his mouth is a fucking elephant trunk.

"Whoa, really!? Gee, thanks honk! You're the best mayor ever!"

'_So I've heard._'

"Blathers, Celeste, and Brewster are going to be so honk-badonk when I tell them all about the good news! Don't worry mayor, honk! I have a really big feeling that you and Brewster will get along well!"

'_With a name like Brewster, I can't really be sure about that. What a fucking terrible pun._'

Whistling with musical notes popping out of his head, a jolly Antonio re-focuses his efforts on his current exercise, "Alright then mayor, see ya! I gotta get back to my honk-tastic jog! Hut two three four, hut two three four, _hut two three four_, **_hut two three four! Honk, honk, honk_****_!_**"

So once again, the mayor is left again in peace, at least for another ten minutes until another animal comes along to protest intently about another stupid project. In the time between then and now, he simply sits and reminisces, while also looking somewhat forward to the new coffee.

With only some slight remorse on his mind.

'_I'm gonna miss drinking out of a cup of ass._'

_**Museum Renovation - 2nd Floor - Approved.**_

_**The Roost Cafe - Approved.**_


	9. Req 09: Jack's Crescendo

**Ahh, November, the month where nothing really happens and the entire thirty days serves only as a bridge between Halloween and Christmas. I mean yeah, you eat with your pork families too, but that's not really anything special. **

**Sorceress of Shadows: At the least they'll be the only sane people in the room in any given environment. As of now, the story will remain as 'loosely-connected' one-shots, but the chances to expand into something more will gradually get bigger and bigger as we go on. **

**Wondering how on earth you can support this story and motivate me to keep on going and make it the best piece of crap this archive of story has ever seen? Simple. Review, review, review. That's all it takes for me to get off my ass and get working, it's that easy. Tell me what you liked, hated, loved , etc etc etc, because it tells ****_me _****what ****_I _****need to do to make sure the story appeals to ****_you_****. Thanks in advance for your courtesy.**

**Word Count: 1058 words.**

* * *

Req .09: Jack's Crescendo

* * *

Little does anyone know, the mayor holds a secret. A secret so confidential, so classified and undisclosed, that if anyone were to find out, it would surely ruin his political career for all that it's worth. If it's worth anything at all.

He resides in his office, days following the night of ghouls, freaks, and bloody, unexpurgated forest murder in the middle of sexual intimacy between two unknowing lovers.

Halloween.

The mayor has something of a sweet tooth.

**_Please knock before entering or -fuck off-, thank you!_**

The words flash in his eyes as the sign dangles outside, hanging over his door. His reasons for hanging it there, earlier that day, are for the sole purpose of protecting his privacy and everything else in-between.

He yawns and unwraps another piece of butterscotch, he pops it in his mouth.

'_Sweet..._'

He has a good two dozens or so pieces left before he's all dried out, and this isn't even including the gratuitous amount of lollipops given to him by villagers, simply for making them shit and piss their pantaloons.

Some of this hoard was given to Jack, the Czar of Halloween, the person responsible for re-awakening the mayor's internal zeitgeist for sugars and sweets, which was formally locked away in his adolescence for years before his arrival.

The rest was kept for himself.

'_Fucking hell, I don't have that many lollipops left... Shit, I knew I gave him more than his fair share._'

It figures that a czar has more political authority than a measly mayor of a backwater town in the middle of scenic nowhere, and it figures that this czar would boss the mayor around in an effort to get him (much like all of his other pumpkin-head wearing subordinates), to scavenge the town like little ants, scouring for candy from where ever it can be excavated.

Fortunately, none of the villagers know of the mayor's ventures that cold, dark night, "Thank god for all those masks I bought, they **_really _**didn't know it was me under all that crap."

He gets a minor jolt when another voice joins in on the conversation.

"That my boy, is because they're merely underlings of my great empire! They have no reason to think, their only purpose comes once a year, and that purpose is to give me _lots _and _lots _of candy!"

The beloved czar of ghosts and ghouls appears in a cloud of spooky dust.

"What the fuck? I thought you went back to Halloween Town...or something, whatever."

Jack cocks his head, a question mark popping out of his pumpkin skull. Although he really can't show any expression but delight, confusion is evident by his tone, "What? _Halloween Town? _Don't be silly, my boy, that's not even a real place! That is but a fictional settlement that my marketing crew devised with the power of viral advertisement in order to drive hype each and every halloween!"

"Oh... Yeah that kind of makes sense in hindsight."

"Why, a town whose sole concept is to remain dedicated to just one holiday that only comes once per year, that's stupid, my boy. They would get bored of the charade about ten days in."

"Uh... Well, where do you actually come from, then?"

"Detroit."

Considering he looks like a obstreperous hoodlum, this explanation sort of makes more sense than it should.

The mayor pops in two more pieces of candy in his mouth, one orange-flavored, the other lemon. A combination of citrus joy that only he can experience, "Alright, here's question two. Why the hell are you still hanging out in _my _domain, then?"

Jack rejoices the man with a hearty laugh, before rambunctiously exclaiming his name aloud.

The mayor's jolt now jumps from minor to major.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't say that **_out loud, _**there could be people eavesdropping-wait. **_How do you even know that name in the first damn place!? _**I never told you anything!"

"I'm the Czar of Halloween, my boy, I know every name there is to know in all the cosmos! Why I'm here? Simple. I wanted to give you a personal congratulations for completing your duties a few days ago, I enjoyed each and every bit of candy you forked over to me, _but _it seems like you didn't give me all of it..."

The mayor promptly covers his 'fair share', "Screw off. This is mine."

"Just a piece?"

"No."

"But Halloween has come to an end!"

"Tough tits."

The pumpkin king drones out a sigh and a shrug, "Well I suppose you can't win them all. Anyways, yes yes, thank you for attending to your duties, what with all those games of charades and rock-paper-scissors, scaring the villagers, _running _from the villagers, taking their candy and giving it all to me, it was jovial tirade indeed! I'm beginning to get a wonderful feeling, a feeling that tells me that yes! You, my boy, are indeed discovering and embracing the true spirit of All Hallows Eve!"

Practically foreign to this kind of unconditional jolliness and understanding, the mayor simply cocks an eyebrow and shifts his eyes to the side, "Uh, yeah. Thanks. I enjoy all my spooky and creepy furniture..."

"You should! It's very remarkable indeed, so rare, they only sell it in Detroit, you know!"

"...Is that all?" asks the mayor, his patience waning a bit.

Jack pauses for a minute, only to retrieve a small piece of paper from his pocket. He hands it to him, "I'd like it if you put a _**Scarecrow**_ somewhere in town, to remember the spirit of Halloween by now that it has passed!"

"But you don't live here." the mayor bluntly points out.

"But I'm the czar."

"_But _I'm the mayor."

"Yes, that I am aware of!..._And _I'm the _czar._"

The two quickly reach a stalemate, a stand-off where two sets of political eyes glare at each other for dominance. A tired, nonchalant pair, versus a delightfully mischievous, jolly, carved out pair.

It's obvious to discern to gives in first.

"Fine. I'll see what I can do."

"Wonderful, and with that, I take my leave, toodles!"

"**_Hey wait a minute, I fucking saw that!_**Put that lollipop back right no-"

The disappearing cloud of dust signifies Jack's departure.

The mayor is left alone again with his hoard, one lolly less than he was earlier.

_**Scarecrow - Approved.**_


	10. Req 10: Chadder's Pizzicato

**If there's one day that I use to work hard and hard and then some, it's Monday. Typically on a Monday I work on this story, in addition to maybe pumping out a one-shot too. But that isn't the end of the ordeal, there's also another on-going 'live' story that I work on (I'm working on it right now actually), but that's only if it misses its Sunday completion deadline.**

**Sunday has passed. **

**I have four writing duties on my plate today, let's knock this one out as beautifully as the rest.**

**Sorceress of Shadows: We'll be keeping the mayor's name in the shadows for now, but quick implications and allusions here and there should get you to the bottom of the mystery in no time.**

**Random Person: Haha, thank you! It's nice to know that I manage to make someone's day each and every week, it's a nice feeling. Please keep reading!**

**Wondering in what ways you can help me better this story for the sake of the public? Simple. Review, review, review, reviews let me know who's reading, reviews let me know what you like, what you hated, and all of the above. Reviewing lets me know what I need to do to better this story, and it lets me know there's a fifty-fifty chance you want to read more of what I have to offer. Thanks in advance for your courtesy.**

**Word Count: 1091 words.**

* * *

Req .10: Chadder's Pizzicato

* * *

"How goes it, mayor! If I may be so bold, you're looking as cool as a fair number of cucumbers this fine day!"

The mayor looks up from his small prize, a bamboo garden, with shoots as far as the naked eye can see. As soon as he notices Chadder's triangle-shaped smug face, his small smile decimates.

'_What the fuck does that even mean?_'

But he doesn't say that. Instead, he places his watering can on the ground and gets up to converse with the squeaky villager, "Yes, what is it, Chadder?"

As always, he knows what the conversation is going to be about already before it begins. In all honesty, he would rather just return to his garden, it's a simple hobby that few people know about. It all came to fruition when he dug his first shoot out of the ground, he had no idea what the fuck it was, but he re-buried it, and bam.

A shoot. Which matured into an adult shoot and pumped out dozens of more babies all around him to dig up, and re-bury.

He planted more, and more, and more until his hands were weary, sweaty, and just begging him to stop.

Today is just a mere watering day.

However, with Chadder's sudden and unwanted presence, it's beginning to diverge from that road. He knows for a fact that it's something he doesn't like, but he deals with it anyway because it's his job as the mayor, and it's his burden to carry for the rest of his natural life.

The mouse speaks.

"Well fromage, I was thinking and-"

"Wait. I'm going to stop you right there and ask _you _something. Does this have anything to do with any kind of Public Work Project? Because if you've noticed, I'm kind of in the middle of something..." he motions to his watering can. It's adorably-crafted to resemble the head of an elephant, with the trunk acting as the can's spout.

Quite out of taste for man of his demeanor.

"Why yes fromage, it is! But I promise, it'll only take a few seconds of your time. **_Wait! _**I know what you're thinking, you're probably thinking, 'Oh my god Chadder's like, going to request something totally bogus!' right?!" accuses the mouse, steam fuming out of his ears.

"Please believe what you want to believe in, _Chuck E._"

"Well if you are thinking that, then guess what? You're wrong, fromage! See, I was over at Town Hall the other day, and I asked Isabelle if I could take a look atthe records of all the requests made by everyone in town, and guess what?!"

He sighs, "...What?"

"She said yes, fromage! And guess what again?"

"...What?"

"She said loves working for a mayor who believes in a refined community! She says she has a great deal of respect for you, so do I, fromage!"

"I really couldn't care less about what shit flies out of that pooch's trap, can you just get to the point?"

It's now or never.

Chadder shifts his eyes to his left, and then to his right, as if there's someone on the outside premises of their conversation that would want to intrude on his brilliant and esoteric idea, "Well, I was looking over the records, and I noticed that they were all dumb and generic, especially the ones that got approved, those _won't _attract tourists, but I know what will, fromage!"

He gives up on hoping for their banter to reach a quick conclusion. Rather than contineue to wait on him to state his business and be on his way, he resumes watering his precious shoots.

'_This is justified, he's taking too long, stepping into too much of **my **time._'

Chadder accompanies him because he's a smug cunt and won't break away until he gets his point across, "Wait, fromage! Aren't you listening?"

"I'm honestly trying to."

"Alright then, just double-checking! So here's my idea."

"Eh?"

"Cheese Fountain."

The mayor stops watering.

"What."

"You heard me, a Cheese Fountain! It's the perfect thing and-"

"A **_Cheese. Fountain._**" he has to repeat the suggestion to himself with emphasis, because of how incredibly ridiculous it sounds. He shares a chuckle to himself, then reverts back into a serious composure, "I... Where do I even... Look, **_no._**"

"Awh, what, but why not?!"

"It doesn't make sense. You're proposing something that's not even on the proposal chart and therefore, not ready for construction. What the hell were you thinking when you thought of that?"

"...Proposal chart?"

The mayor pulls the ends of his hair. Gritting his teeth, he takes out a copy of the aforementioned chart from his pocket's inventory, "Look, you obviously weren't listening at all when we started this whole requesting charade, I can tell because your request is not only stupid as fuck, but also proves you never took a look at the chart. You better be grateful I have a spare here for you."

"Oh, okay fromage!...But what's it for?"

"A reference hand-out, a cheat sheet, you know, a guide! The chart has all the guidelines about the construction of various projects, personally I haven't looked at the whole list myself but I have enough common sense to know that the dimensions for a fountain made of cheese **_aren't_** on there. The thing is, the villagers think of shit they wanna propose to me for whatever silly reason, and then they request it. They tell me about it and why they want it, if I like what they pick out, I build it, but **_only _**if the chart says it's possible. Then, we get tourists, we benefit from their cash, they tell their friends, they visit, we benefit from **_their _**cash, the cycle continues because it's a fucking marvelous idea. It's a system that works. Your idea? It's unique because it's not on the list, but it's dumb."

Disappointed and dejected, Chadder desperately attempts to change the mayor's merciless mind, "B-But what about Curt's **_Parabolic Antenna? _**T-That's just gigantic a-and, and it looks silly, fromage!"

"It's dumb, but justified."

Chadder accepts the chart at the mayor's request that he keep it for referencing purposes, and he begins to leave back to his estate with a low-hanging heart. The mayor returns to his garden, his face, hands, and knees all covered in dirt and grime.

Chadder returns moments later out of controversy.

"Hey, wait a minute, fromage! The chart here talks about construction for a fountain!-"

The mayor looks up from his garden, "Construction for a fountain with **_water_**, dumbass!"

"...Oh."


End file.
